


It's just something in my eye

by greedy_dancer



Series: Tumblr ficlets [14]
Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Crying, M/M, Notfic, sex tears, well kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4527369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greedy_dancer/pseuds/greedy_dancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>And one night they’re pleasantly drunk, at Nick’s with a few people still left after dinner, and they’re getting closer and closer to the line again, talking about more and more risqué things, and somehow they end up talking about people who cry during sex.<br/>
</i>
</p>
<p>  <i>“That is NOT a thing,” Nick declares, and Aimee swears that a friend of hers in New York would cry EVERY TIME, and then Harry says, quietly, innocently, (okay, perhaps not that innocently) that no, actually he’s made people cry during sex, it’s totally a thing.<br/>
</i>
</p>
<p> <i>Nick gapes at him for a few seconds and then he forces himself to not ask any questions even though he’s DEAD CURIOUS, and the moment passes. But Nick keeps thinking about it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	It's just something in my eye

**Author's Note:**

> So recently I felt the need for more sex!tears - don’t we all - and I thought about Nick and Harry - don’t we all x2.
> 
> Unbetaed.

They’ve been flirting for a while but they’re not shagging - it’s logistically complicated, and it’s not like either of them lack options. It’s one of those situations where one will say something _just_ on the line between harmless and shameless but the other will play dumb and so the status quo holds.

And one night they’re pleasantly drunk, at Nick’s with a few people still left after dinner, and they’re getting closer and closer to the line again, talking about more and more risqué things, and somehow they end up talking about people who cry during sex.

“That is NOT a thing,” Nick declares, and Aimee swears that a friend of hers in New York would cry every single time, and then Harry says, quietly, innocently, (okay, perhaps not that innocently) that yeah, it's true, he’s made people cry during sex, it’s totally a thing.

Nick gapes at him for a few seconds and then he forces himself to not ask any questions even though he’s dead curious, and the moment passes. But Nick keeps thinking about it.

Obviously he’s thought about Harry and sex before but this one really sticks with him, because he doesn’t really get it. Why would you cry during sex? He knows Harry doesn’t fuck hysterical fangirls and it’s obviously not because Harry’s *bad* at it. It just makes no sense.

So next time Harry’s staying over, Nick brings it up, casual like: “So, young Harold, tell me more about how you’ve made people cry with your willy.”

And Harry huffs a laugh, a little embarassed. “It’s not like that,” he says, shrugging. “It’s just, you know. Sometimes. It’s a lot.”

“Yes, we know, you have an enormous-”

“No, it’s like, not about that even,” Harry cut him off. “It’s more like, intense, you know? It’s a release, I don’t know.”

“Wait, do you cry?” Nick asks, curious.

“Sometimes,” Harry says. “You've really never done it?"

Nick snorts. “Not a girl, am I?”

“Niiick,” Harry frowns, shaking his head. Then he says, “Anyway, it’s not just girls.”

Nick gapes. “You’ve made boys cry? Grown boys? Men? Actual men have cried having sex with Harry Styles?? Oh my god, someone call the Daily Mail.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, just looks at Nick steadily.

**

So, that’s how Nick finds himself in bed with Harry Styles making A Plan. A Sex Plan. A Sex Plan to Make Nick Cry. With Sex. With Harry Styles.

“So, like, what does that mean exactly, ‘intensity’, is it like rough sex? Cause I’ve had rough sex, Harry Styles, I’m no shrinking violet I’ll have you know. Back in the day I was-”

Harry cuts Nick’s inane babbling off with his tongue. “Shh,” he says when he’s done kissing Nick stupid. “Don’t overthink it. It won’t work if you overthink it.”

Easier said than done, Nick thinks, but then he’s being kissed by Harry some more and, okay. The kid has a point.

**

It’s good sex. It’s very good sex, even, better than it usually is the first time Nick gets off with someone. Harry’s just a good as Nick thought he would be, gentle yet forceful in all the right moments, the right mix of attentive and selfish, and obviously insanely hot to just look at. It’s a Very Nice Fuck, and Nick gets a very satisfying orgasm out of it.

But he doesn’t cry.

Of course he doesn’t cry, Nick is an experienced man who has had lots of amazing sex in his life. He’s not going to start weeping just because a popstar gave him a good seeing to.

Harry looks slightly disappointed as he rolls off of Nick, though, palming at his own face to push off the damp hair that’s stuck to his cheeks.

“Don’t tell me it works every time,” Nick says.

“No, of course,” Harry agrees, kind of sadly. “Maybe if you’d been on your stomach…”

“So what,” Nick says, “are you saying we just have to… try again?”

“Yeah!” Harry nods. “Yes. Practice makes perfect, doesn’t it? I’m going to read up on it, you’ll see. We’ll make it happen.” He squeezes Nick’s shoulder, almost consoling, looking cheerier again.

Nick just nods and goes back to basking in the remains of his afterglow.

**

So Nick has sex with Harry again. And again. And again.

They have sex in every position Nick can conceive of and a few that he can’t. They have fast, athletic sex; intense, relentless, pounding against each other and coming until Nick’s head feels like it’s going to detach-sex. They have slow, methodical, dragging-it-out sex where coming lasts so long that Nick can’t feel his feet for minutes afterwards. They have quasi-tantric sex with candles and incense and staring into each other’s eyes and breathing exercises that have Nick scrambling for his puff-puff. Nick has some of the best orgasms of his life during those shags.

But still, no tears.

Harry tries, he really does - Nick can tell by the furrow between Harry’s brows, the way he peers intently into Nick’s face when he’s above him, looking for the signs. (Once, Harry puts his hand on Nick’s neck, and- “Are you checking my pulse??” Harry takes his hand back quickly but he doesn’t say no.)

Nick also tries, but. Somewhere along the way, he realizes that when - _if_ , it’s still an if, for god’s sake, he doesn’t know when he bought into Harry’s weird certainty that it’ll happen sooner or later - _if_ Harry succeeds in his weird quest to make Nick cry with his dick, that’s it, they won’t be having sex again. And Nick is really enjoying it.

Not only the sex, mind, but just, the whole thing. Sharing this weird secret with Harry. Having a project together. Finding excuses to spend time just the two of them when Harry’s in town. Lying in Nick’s bed after, laughing at each other’s stupid sex faces. Harry bringing him tea in the morning when he stays the night.

Nick’s so deep in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear what Harry’s telling him.

“What?”

“I said, maybe you should fuck me. Maybe that’s what you need to really feel it.”

 _Oh god, I don’t want to really feel it,_ Nick thinks suddenly. He’s starting to realize this might have been a really stupid idea. Even stupider than it sounded when they started, but for whole different reasons now.

“Or maybe you just-” Harry starts, and Nick finds himself pushed back against the cushions of his couch, Harry kneeling against between his legs, reaching for his flies.

“Maybe just don’t even think about it,” Harry whispers, right against Nick’s crotch, and Nick’s possiby in the middle of a crisis but he’s still getting hard, he can’t help it when Harry is reaching into his pants and taking out his dick, and looking up at Nick with his hair half in his face, his big hand engulfing Nick.

“Just relax, forget about it for a minute. Just enjoy it,” Harry repeats, and Nick closes his eyes and does just that, lets his head fall back and his legs fall open and tries to concentrate on the feeling of Harry’s mouth around him, Harry’s palms warm on his thighs, and fuck, Harry’s so good at this too, and it’s so bloody unfair that he’s so good at everything he does, even sucking cock. It seems cruel that he should have it all, the looks and the talent and the fame and Nick, because Nick’s gone and fallen for him like an idiot, him and a billion teenage girls and god, Harry’s mouth, and his tongue and his fingers pressing inside of Nick, like Harry’s not wormed his way deep enough inside him yet, inside his brain, where Nick knows Harry’s going to stay now, a Harry-shard inside on Nick’s chest that’ll still hurt long after Harry’s gone back on his quest to make many other people cry-

Nick’s face feels hot suddenly, and he chokes a little and, oh no, oh god-

“Whaa?” Harry slurs when Nick pushes him back and scrambles away, up from the couch, awkwardly rushing to lock himself into his bathroom because fuck if he is going to start crying now. Sex tears are one thing, but crying because he’s finally let himself fall in love with Harry Styles? No way. No one can know, least of all Harry.

He’s leaning against the sink, trying to get his traitorous brain under control when Harry asks “Nick? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” through the bathroom door.

Nick clears his throat. “Me? No, no, I’m great, don’t worry,” he says, but even he can tell it’s a little wobbly.

“Are you hurt? Did I-” Harry starts.

“No, of course not, you didn’t do anything. I’m fine!”

“Are you coming out then?” Harry asks.

Nick looks at himself in the mirror, sighs. It’s not obvious, he doesn’t think - his eyes are a little red but he can probaby get away with blaming it on sudden allergies or summat. He splashes cold water over his face, dabs some of his puffiness-reducing cream under his eyes, and opens the door.

Harry’s in his face immediately, worried. “Are you sure you’re okay? Was it something I did? You can tell me, you know,” he starts.

Nick tries to keep his eyes on the ground. “I said I’m fine, Haz,” he says, and tries to get past Harry. He’s stopped by a hand on his arm.

“Nick,” Harry says. “Look at me. Please?”

Nick closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and then he does.

“Nick,” Harry breathes, and Nick knows he's lost. “Jesus, Nick, were you _crying_ in there? Did it, holy shit, did it work?”

Harry’s getting excited now, and god, that’s the last thing Nick wants, because that’s it, it’s the end of Harry’s project and he’s going to move on and leave Nick behind, go back to being a mate Nick occasionally sees for Sunday roasts and walks in the park with Pig.

It’s no use trying to deny it though; even as he starts shaking his head he can feel his throat close up and his eyes fill with tears again.

“Congrats, Helen,” he whispers. “You’ve done it again.“

There’s a second of silence, and then Harry says: “Nick,” and Nick knows it didn’t work. Damn Harry, always so much more perceptive than people give him credit for.

“Nick, come on,” Harry insists. “I know what the good crying looking like, remember? Tell me what’s wrong, please.”

Nick sighs. Might as well get it out, since he’s already making a fool of himself.

“I’ve fucked it up, haven’t I,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

Nick chuckles sadly. “Don’t worry, popstar. Not the first time someone gets inappropriate feelings for you. Surely there’s some sort of support group I can join.”

Nick hates silence at the best of times, and this isn’t one of those. “Say something, please,” he asks when Harry is still quiet after a few seconds.

He doesn’t expect Harry to say “You idiot,” but it's not like Harry's wrong here.

“I know,” Nick starts, but then Harry interrupts him.

“You fucking idiot,” Harry continues, sounding… fond? And kind of choked up himself, Nick realizes, and when Nick looks at Harry, he's positively beaming, which doesn’t seem like a very nice thing to do when your friend is crying, unless- Oh.

“You total, utter, _absolute_ idiot,” Harry laughs, and then he doesn’t say anything anymore, because he’s too busy shoving his tongue down Nick’s throat for a while, and Nick is too busy reciprocating to answer.

**

“It counts, though,” Harry says after, when they’re back where they belong, naked and sweaty and satisfied on Nick’s bed.

“Hm?”

“I said, it counts,” Harry repeats. “I did it. I made you cry with sex.”

“Excuse me? You did not!” Nick huffs. “Those weren’t sex tears at all. I _don’t_ cry during sex.”

“Tears that happen during sex are sex tears,” Harry pronounces. “That’s the rule. It’s like, science or summat.”

“Oh, is that right? You’re like, a Professor of Sex now, is that it?”

Harry nods, a smug look on his face.

“I’ll have you know, young Harold, that it's only science if you can reproduce the results.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, and his eyes are still closed, but the slow grin that spreads across his face tells Nick everything he needs to know.

 

The end!

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here on Tumblr](http://greedydancer.tumblr.com/post/126140542272/here-have-2k-of-sextears-gryles-that-got-out-of)!


End file.
